


Outro

by halfegyptiancotton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfegyptiancotton/pseuds/halfegyptiancotton
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and has left a trail of ashes during her campaign in Westeros. Among those ashes is Shireen Baratheon, Stannis' daughter and King Robert's only true-born heir. Now, she is an orphan and has been delivered to Kings Landing as a fugitive and ward of Daenerys Targaryen.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, like many people I was very disappointed with the execution of the final season of GOT, so I wanted to work through my feelings through some revisionist fan fiction! This follows more of the book timeline, and Stannis, Selyse, and Melisandre never killed Shireen (obviously). The Starks have Winterfell, thanks in part to Stannis' army and assistance. 
> 
> This narrative mostly follows Shireen's point of view in Kings Landing after Daenerys takes the Seven Kingdoms. There will be some Daenerys-centered chapters, because I do still think she's a very interesting character and deserved a lot more than what the show gave her. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

“Step forward, Lady Baratheon.”

The girl obeyed, feeling the eyes of soldiers lurk and linger over her. The sickly daughter of a fearsome king and commander, Shireen was well accustomed to impolite scrutiny; but now, with her father gone and her own army shackled and shattered, she was keenly aware that there would be no more protection for her. 

“Look at me.” 

She lifted her head to find that all of the rumors about the Dragon Queen were true. Daenerys Targaryen was beautiful and terrifying, with her black dragon crouched beside her and thousands of soldiers in her service. It mirrored her movements with a swerve of his neck and tail, its red eyes fixated on the prisoner. Among the men and women standing beside her upon the bluff, Shireen recognized Jorah Mormont and Barristan Selmy.

“As I understand it, you are the only remaining member of House Baratheon.” 

“Yes,” she said. “That is true.”

“So now the questions remains as to whether you will be the last of your house.” 

“I trust you have already decided.” 

“On the contrary, that decision is yours,” said Daenerys, turning her head to Ser Barristan before continuing in a rehearsed speech. “I will give you Storm’s End, as well as all of the lands, titles, and income that comes with it. You will be Lady Paramount of the Stormlands and any children borne from your body will carry the name Baratheon and be granted all rights as your heirs. I offer this not only in good faith to you, but to the legacy and memory of your father, whose campaigns brought peace and stability to the North.” 

Shireen nodded respectfully, awaiting the inevitable caveat. 

“All I ask in return,” she continued, returning her gaze to the girl. “Is that you recognize me as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“And renounce my own claim.” 

Daenerys smirked. “You have no claim to renounce. Your uncle was a usurper. Your father, too, was a usurper.”

“My father was the true King of Westeros.” She wrapped her hands in fists at her side. “He had served and protected the realm from injustice and brutality for years before he ever campaigned for himself.” 

“As did I.” 

“Forgive me, my lady,” she said, masking her resentment in a delicate tone. “I have heard stories of your campaign, and the destruction that has followed. My father was not that kind of conqueror.” 

“No, perhaps not,” said Daenerys. “But he is dead now.” 

“He died fighting for the realm. He died fighting… not only for himself, but to place me upon the Iron Throne one day." Shireen exhaled, thinking of her words carefully before proceeding. “I will never renounce my claim.” 

Muffled whispers and surprised glances stretched over the ocean of armed men. 

“Is that so?” Daenerys exchanged frustrated looks with Ser Jorah. “I am sorry to hear that.” 

Ser Barristan, on the other hand, kept his focus on Shireen. She wondered if he remembered meeting her at Dragonstone when she was a young girl. Could he have harbored some sympathy for her, the neice of his former king and the grand-daughter of his former liege lord? It seemed unlikely. 

Daenerys turned back to her prisoner. “Lady Baratheon, do you know what happens to those who do not bend the knee to me?” 

“Yes,” she replied, looking at the black dragon. “They are burned.” 

“Yes, that’s right, you have heard stories about me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you know I would never order my dragons to burn a young girl. Not even the daughter of a traitor.” 

Shireen exhaled and released her fist at her side, clasping her hands instead at the front of her dress. 

“Lady Baratheon, your words of bravery and honor are very moving. Or they would be, if your life had actually been at risk.” Daenerys rolled her eyes and motioned for her Queensguard to approach. “Take her.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen is introduced to her new reality as a captive of Daenerys Targaryen.

Shireen was led to a makeshift cell at the edge of the military encampment, nearest to the woods. She walked as slowly as the guards were allow, careful to scan the scene for any friends or allies. Even a sympathetic glance would be enough to sustain her through the hell that awaited her at the end of this march. Maybe they would take pity on this weak girl, this unfortunate princess. But all she saw was a storm of black and red, of foreign and Westerosi soldiers alike spitting at her feet.  
  
Who was this girl, they must have thought, to question the supremacy of our queen?  
  
One soldier stood at the entrance while the other pushed her into the rear of the cell, pulling at her wrists until they were tied together. He then pushed her to her knees and latched the rope onto the stake already dug deep into the earth. Once she was completely detained, he backed away as if to get a good look at her.  
  
Shireen tried to still her breath as he examined her. She knew she was, if not pitiful, an unpleasant thing to behold. She had no means by which to protect herself from dragons, men, not even the cold. Her wolf-pelt coat had been confiscated, as had the jewel stag broach on her chest. Her mother’s ermine fur scarf and the chainmail her father had made for her in Winterfell, gone. She had no family, no one to barter or plead for her safe return. So, even though she could not begrudge the soldier’s distrust for her, or even his loyalty to Daenerys, the conditions of her captivity felt a bit extreme.  
  
_Don’t they know this will make them only look worse?_  
  
The soldier might have considered all of these things as he looked at her, but orders were orders. And Daenerys Targaryen had made those orders very clear.  
  
The soldier and his comrade turned away and locked the cell door behind them.  
  
That night, while the rest of the encampment celebrated their queen’s victory in the glow of campfire and wine, Shireen rested her head upon the melting snow. Staring into the woods, she thought of Ser Davos riding between the trees, a blade at his waist and a gloved hand outstretched towards her. _He was an expert smuggler_ , she thought, _he will smuggle me out of this_.  
  
“Girl.”  
  
Shireen turned her head to see a man shrouded in shadow, who she did not recognize.  
  
“I heard you’re Stannis’ daughter.”  
  
She pulled herself up sit on her hips. “Yes.”  
  
“You’re going to die here, then.” The man’s face curled into a snarl. “You know that right?”  
  
She turned away from him.  
  
“Hey,” he continued, more loudly this time. “You know, the Queen’s gonna put you on display for the whole world—so they know what happens to traitors. Your corpse will be the main attraction, and they’ll all come round and laugh at you, you pathetic little girl.”  
  
She laid her head back down, her hands resting between her cheek and the cold ground as she tried to put the man out of her mind. Nothing he said mattered to her anymore. Men have been foretelling her death for years, first to her physicians, then her parents, then to her. They all came and laid their misfortunes upon her, conjured up ghosts to haunt her ever steps, yet here she was - the last of her house still alive. The surprising—though perhaps undeserving, she thought—favorite of the Lord of Light. And soon the whole world will know that she, not her father or uncles, was the strongest of her house.  
  
_’They will come round to look at me.’_ She thought of the Starks. _Will they come too?_  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Princess, King Stannis is dead.”  
  
What remained of her mother’s queensguard closed around her, expecting her to collapse. To their dismay, the girl remained standing, her blue eyes fixated on snow-covered trees behind them.  
  
“In battle?” she asked.  
  
“Aye.”  
  
A wave of relief ran through her body. Her father, King though he was, was first and foremost a warrior and military commander. He was not severed from this world by dragons or monsters, by burning or flaying. No, he died a warrior’s death, quick and honorable.  
  
Shireen turned her head for a moment to compose herself in front of the men. Now was not the time to be the weak child they all thought of her.  
  
“What next, then?”  
  
“The dragon queen is hunting you. She and her army will be at our camp before sundown,” said one of the men, his eyes hard on her. “We need to move now.”  
  
“And what of my army?”  
  
“The battle is lost. All of the men are retreating or scattering.”  
  
“So where do you propose I go?”  
  
“To Winterfell, Princess. Lady Stark has already pledged her support for you, and she will protect you from Daenerys Targaryen.”  
  
“She pledged her support for my father, not me, and now he’s gone.”    
  
“You are the king’s true heir,” Ser Massey spoke out. “Please, my lady. I beg you to seek the Starks’ protection.”  
  
The Starks’ faces flickered in her mind, their eyes alight with fury she had only ever seen before in her lord father. If she ran to them, Daenerys would not be far behind, and she would be bringing the same destruction to their family that had been wrought upon hers. After all they had been through, after all they had done for her father, Shireen would not will fire upon them.  
  
“We cannot endanger the Starks. They are our most powerful allies.” She reached for her fur coat. “We will make our way to Storm’s End.”  
  
“But—?”  
  
“—We don’t have time to discuss this. Send ravens to the Northern lords that we will go to White Harbor and sail for Storm’s End. Whoever seeks protection from the dragon queen in the South may come with us.”  
  
“And what shall we tell the Starks?”  
  
“Tell them to do and say what they must to survive, and that I will pay for the aid of any and all of my men that they take under their protection.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“We ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up taking a lot longer, because I had a different scene planned for Chapter Two. Chapter Three is already drafted, and so should be uploaded in a day or two! 
> 
> As always, thank you for all feedback, and comments of all types are appreciated!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen is faced with a choice.

“Get up!”  
  
Shireen opened her eyes to darkness. She had lost count of how many mornings began this way, with her body entombed in shadow and a hooded stranger hovering over her.   
  
She brushed her hem to her ankles to preserve some semblance of modesty as she shuffled to the back of the cage.   
  
“On your feet.”   
  
Shireen held the bars as she lifted from the ground, her long black hair heavy in front of her face.   
  
The queen had seen fit to make an example of her. She had been dragged and carted from Riverrun to Sunspear in shackles, with ropes tied around her throat and wrists.  She was paraded in a small procession of prisoners, who were kept close enough that they could see Daenerys on her white horse. In the beginning, Shireen made every effort to appear strong, with her head lifted and back straight, but the months of agonizing humilitation had begun to weigh her down.   
  
She could handle all of the soldiers’ insults and harassment, all of their snide remarks and threats. She could even handle the lords’ condescending smirks, leering stares, and prodding hands. But what bore heavy on her heart were the low-born women and children, her own people, and the food they threw at her during the procession. When the thought of eating the rotten food on her gown crossed her mind, after having been starved for three days, she wanted to die.   
  
_How stupid had I been?_ she thought. _To think I was a queen, to think that I could make them all love me._   
  
The long march forced her into a state of constant reflection and enduring sorrow.  She knew very little of the state of the world in which she lived, so she could only reflect upon the past and what little she did know. She knew her parents were gone, that they had been guided into the darkness by the Lord of Light. But the rest was uncertain, and all those around her had been instructed not to give her any information. Had Ser Davos died with her parents, or had he managed to escape the Dragon Queen? What became of her cousins, Edric and Gendry, the last living sons of King Robert?  And the Starks…?   
  
Her heart wrenched at the thought of House Stark. Sansa Stark had promised many things to Stannis in exchange for his aid in recapturing Winterfell, including the return of the North into the fold through the marriage of her brother Rickon to Shireen. This was the only term that her father did not agree to, for what reason, she wasnt quite sure. But now, Shireen was sure that the betrothal would have saved her life. The thought filled her with dread.   
  
“Come,” the soldier barked and yanked on the rope, dragging her out of the cell and into the open clearing. The smell of rabbit stew in the morning reminded her of her father’s military encampment, but she tried pushed the memory out of her mind. Reminiscence was a fruitless endeavor; survival was her only objective.   
  
The guard led her to a large red tent on the east side of the camp. He lifted the opening and pushed her forward, leaving her alone inside.   
  
She turned her head to see none other than Tyrion Lannister standing before her, a weak smile on his face.   
  
“Lady Baratheon, so pleased to make your acquaintance.”   
  
“Lord Lannister.”   
  
“Please call me Tyrion,” he said with a smile. “I must say, you’re much taller than I expected.”   
  
“Yes, people have said that.”   
  
His eyes drifted over her, landing on her bound wrists. “One moment,” he said as he approached, pulling a knife from his belt. “Let me help you.”  
  
She nodded and watched him fumble with her hands for a moment before finally cutting the rope. “Thank you.”  
  
“Of course.” He backed up to give her some space. “How are you?”  
  
“I am well,” she said coldly, her eyes on her feet. “Considering.”   
  
He scratched his head awkwardly as she shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yes, I know these circumstances not ideal, but I hope you will indulge me for a moment.”  
  
“Indulge you in what way?”   
  
“Just a conversation.”   
  
“Luckily, I have all the time in the world for a conversation,” she lowered her voice before continuing. “If it is your queen’s pleasure, that is.”   
  
“Frankly, if you must know, she did not want me to speak with you, but I thought it important that we meet.”   
  
“What do you want to talk about, Tyrion?”   
  
“Right to the point, then.” His smile widened. “You are your father’s daughter.”   
  
“It seems so.”   
  
He peered up at her for a moment. “Before I go on, I would like to respectfully give you some advice - from one child of a prominant lord to another.”  
  
“And what would that be?”   
  
“Do not try to force the comparison. For better or worse, everything you do will be his legacy, and others will remind you of that constantly. But you do not need to be him. I want you to trust in your own intuition, in your own sense of right and wrong.”   
  
She looked down at her tattered gown, at the loose black strands on her shoulders, at her calloused fingers and hands. She had not been allowed to look at herself since her capture, but she knew she was a wretched thing to look at. She was never a pretty child, but now, after all of these trials of war and travel, she had become a gaunt and unclean skeleton woman, the ashen ‘Princess that Never Was.’   
  
“Why have you brought me here, Tyrion?”   
  
“Right now, we are about a two days ride from Kings Landing. There, Queen Daenerys and her small council, myself included, will begin our restoration efforts of the city and begin working to bring the Seven Kingdoms back into the fold.”  
  
“I thought that was what…” her eyes drifted over the tent, elaborately decorated with the House Targaryen sigil, “All of this was for.”  
  
He smiled. “Only a small component of our larger mission. We thought it best that our new queen meet with the established lords and ladies of Westeros, at least briefly.”  
  
“All but the Stormlands and the North?”   
  
“Yes, well.” He licked his lips. “Some serious efforts need to be made on that front.”   
  
“So what do you want?”   
  
“Storm’s End is currently retained under the Crown’s control. We had hoped that installing your uncle, Lord Axell Florent, as castellan, would ease some of the tension, but he and a few other lords have raised some concerns as to your …treatment.” Tyrion glanced up at her to gauge a reaction, but Shireen remained  silent and composed, so he continued. “So, mindful of your health, position, and the great influence you yield, the Queen would like to extend an offer to you.”   
  
“Which is?”  
  
“The Queen has graciously offered to take you under her wing as a ward. You shall reside and attend court in the Red Keep alongside her. She shall educate and instruct you so that you may be a valuable ally and advisor to her.  While under her protection, you will be treated to every comfort you require.”  
  
Shireen stepped back, fighting to mask her utter shock. The last time she saw Daenerys, she called her the daughter of a traitor. She was a prisoner, the disgraced lady of an all-but-destroyed house. How had she, in the span of months, decided to take her in as a ward?   
  
“I don’t understand…” She raised her hand to her mouth. “Why would she want me as a ward?”  
  
“Try not to look at it from a transactional perspective. Despite the present… circumstances,  Daenerys sees potential in you and, since you do not have any living family, she felt that you would benefit from some time learning in the capital. And perhaps, in time, you two could become not just allies, but friends.”   
  
“And Storm’s End?”   
  
“Will remain in the Crown’s control until your twentieth name-day, then you may return and live out the rest of your days as Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.” He looked up at her sympathetically, closing the space between them to gently touch her hand. “You could go home.”   
  
“Home,” Shireen repeated under her breath, her face betraying the longing she felt at the thought.   
  
“But all of this is incident to a condition which must be met today.”   
  
“Which is?”  
  
“You bend the knee to her, and recognize her as the sole claimant to the Iron Throne.”  
  
She retrieved her hand from him and stepped away. “And if I refuse?”  
  
“You will be sent to the dungeons of the Red Keep to live out the rest of your days in isolation.” His nostrils flared.  “But I am here to implore you to accept our Queen’s generous offer.”   
  
“I do not know if I can.”  
  
“Can I ask why not?”   
  
“She is not my queen.”   
  
Tyrion dropped his head in frustration. “Please, Shireen, what have you to gain from refusing the offer? Do you want to die here, is that it?”  
  
“My father died to make me Queen. If I do this, I would never forgive myself,” she spoke softly, but with clarity. “And I was prepared to die with him months ago.”  
  
“The Queen is adamant not make a martyr out of you. You will be barricaded in a damp cell, without sunlight or fresh air, without another soul to hear you. She will instruct the guards to keep you alive, so you will be there for decades, until you are so old and unimportant that the Queen casts you off or has you killed. You will never marry or have children. Storm’s End will be destroyed, and in time, you and your House will be forgotten. Your father's legacy will disappear.” He removed his hand. “Will you forgive yourself for that?”   
  
Shireen’s eyes welled at the thought. Tyrion was not the first to suggest such a thing to her these past months, but he was by far the most convincing, and the most powerful. After all, he was the queen’s closest advisor; any and all of his clever plots could materialize with a snap of his fingers.   
  
The Hand of the Queen sensed her horror and softened his voice. “But, if you prove yourself loyal, in time you will be free.”  
  
“I will never be free so long as she is queen.”  
  
“No, perhaps not completely. But, Lady Baratheon, the world may never look the way you want it to,” he sighed and looked up at her. “We have to press forward either way.”   
  
She nodded slowly.   
  
“So what shall I tell the Queen?”   
  
Shireen wiped the tears from her face and looked around her. Six years. Six years of red and black, of fire and blood. Six years of swearing fealty to a woman who had destroyed her family. Six years of captivity in King’s Landing, with guards and spies, and not a friend of her own. Six years without family, not by blood or marriage. But after those six years, she could live. She could damn the doubters and survive—for her house, for herself.   
  
“Tell her it’s done,” she said finally, and watched the relief wash over Tyrion’s face while her stomach dropped. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen presents herself to Queen Daenerys.

They had not yet reached King’s Landing, but the Small Council insisted that Shireen make her appearance before the queen as soon as possible. Despite the haste, however, Daenerys had planned to make a spectacle of this moment. All of the lords and ladies in her entourage gathered in and around the queen’s lavish war tent. There was a feast already prepared and musicians played Targaryen songs. This would be a day for songs and splendor, which would carry across Westeros and silence all dissidents in the realm, wherever they may be lurking.  
  
“I hear the Lady Shireen wishes to make herself heard.”  
  
Shireen stepped past the lords in her soiled dress and thick black hair unbound and and unclean.  She maintained a stern, cold expression as she approached the queen.  
  
Daenerys carried a smile that had she had worn well on the procession, but her violet eyes were cool and distrusting.  “Well?”  
  
She dropped to her knees, which sent murmurs and gasps amongst the crowd.  “I am here to pledge my support and loyalty to you, your grace,” she could feel bile rise up in the back of her throat as she spoke. “And renounce my claim to the throne.”  
  
Daenerys rose to her feet. “And your father?”  
  
“My father was a noble and honorable man, your grace,” she said. “But upon your landing in Westeros, he should not have opposed your rule.”  
  
The queen nodded, slowly.  
  
“I ask your grace for mercy, for myself, and all of my father’s followers and brothers-in-arms. I also ask for safety and stability for the people of the Stormlands and House Florent. And I… ” Shireen stumbled upon the request, staring at her bound and twisted hands.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“I ask for a place in your court. If you would find it in your heart to forgive me and my parents’ transgressions against you.”  
  
“Is this truly what you want?”  
  
Shireen lifted her face to meet the queen’s gaze. Daenerys must have known there was nothing that disgusted her more, but if she did, she didn’t show it on her face. “It is.”  
  
“Very well.” Daenerys’ face warmed. “Thank you, Lady Shireen. It shall be done. I  welcome you to my household.” She cast a quick glance at one of her knights, who approached Shireen and cut the ropes around her hands.  “Please escort the lady to her new chambers.”  
  
“Thank you, my queen,” she said softly against the roar of applause by the highborn onlookers. She wondered just how many of these people had urged that the queen have her killed only one week prior.  
  
The knight led her out of the queen’s war tent and to another tent just over one fifty meters away. He pulled back the curtains to reveal large bed with fresh linens and a fur blanket. Upon the bed was a silver tray of berries, cakes, and wine, as well as a simple black dress. Towards the back of the tent was a tub of water and a clean rag.  
  
“The Queen insisted you have a hot bath tonight, my lady, before we make our final march to King’s Landing,” said the knight. “There will be a guard posted outside your tent should you need anything else.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
The knight dipped his head and departed, leaving Shireen alone in the lavish accommodations. She walked over to the tray of food and plucked a berry from the dish, tracing her lips with it before taking a bite. The thought of her father’s  year-long siege in Storm’s End flashed across her mind, and with it came the instant rush of guilt. It paralyzed her and howled through her body like the cold wind from the sea.  
  
She shoved the tray from the bed and collapsed to the floor, sobbing into her hands.  
  
_What have I done?_


	5. Chapter Five

The following morning, Shireen awoke to find that she was gifted a horse by the Queen, a pretty black mare.  
  
“She reminded of you, don’t you think?” Daenerys cooed from atop her own horse as she trotted over to Shireen. “Pretty black hair. Quite striking.”  
  
“Does she have a name?”  
  
“Not in the common tongue. She came from the Dothraki sea, so you’ll need to pick one for her new life here.”  
  
Shireen ran her hand through the horse’s main. It felt like silk thread. “Thank you, my queen. I will cherish her.”  
  
Daenerys nodded curtly and continued towards the front of the parade.  
  
Shireen and Silk took to one another instantly, and Shireen realized how much she had missed having a horse of her own. Upon her new mare, she moved swiftly through the parade, ever aware of the prying eyes of the Targaryen guards on her. The attention would take some time to get used to, but her circumstances were nonetheless much improved.  
  
“Glad to see you looking so well, my lady,” Tyrion called out from his carriage. “The daylight agrees with you.”  
  
“Thank you, my lord.”  
  
Shireen cast a small nod to the Hand without looking him in the eye before riding ahead. She was resolved not to allow herself to be charmed by him, nor would she allow him to believe that she was indebted to him. For all she was concerned, she had built this opportunity—or prison, perhaps—herself, and she would never forget the damage the Lannisters wrought upon her family.   
  
It took about a little less than a week for the entire procession to reach King’s Landing. Shireen marveled at the massive gates and the steep steps up to the Red Keep. It had not all been pulled asunder by the war, but there was a marked stillness in the air. The crowd that came out to greet them in the streets were made up almost entirely of only women and children.  
  
How many fathers and brothers, she wondered, had been lost these past five years?  
  
One little boy with hair like feathers and eyes like rain ran up to Shireen.  He held up a bouquet of poppies, which she graciously clasped in her hands. “Thank you,” she said before he disappeared behind a woman’s skirt.  
  
“Bless you, princess,” said the woman, a bit too loudly, as she kept pace with Shireen’s horse along the road. “Now that you are here, we shall have peace.”  
  
The guards bristled at the word and Shireen felt herself tense at the word. She nodded and moved along.  
  
“My lady.”  
  
She turned her head to see Barristan Selmy. “Ser.”  
  
“I do not think we’ve been formally introduced yet,” he spoke in a much gentler tone than she would have expected.  
  
“You do not need to introduce yourself, Ser Barristan. I recognize your crest, and… well everything else about you.”  
  
He smiled at her. “I suppose, like the queen I serve, I have a bit of a reputation.”  
  
“Not a bad one though.”  
  
“I just hope biographers judge me kindly.”  
  
“They have so far. I read so many books about your grand adventures while I was growing up in Dragonstone.”  
  
“Ah yes, I heard you liked to read.”  
  
“My own reputation,” she exhaled through a polite smile and turned her attention on the road. “Rather dull, don’t you think?”  
  
“A clever and dutiful niece of a king, who accompanied her father’s military campaign thousands of miles from home?” He leaned forward to catch her eye.  “Not at all dull.”  
  
“I can only pray that my story does not end here.”  
  
“It won’t, my lady. That I can assure you.”  
  
She quirked an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t make an assurances to her unless given instruction by the queen. Was he playing a game with her?  
  
“Is this your first time in King’s Landing?”  
  
“Yes, it is.”  
  
“You might find it very uncomfortable here, at least in the beginning.”  
  
“I am used to being uncomfortable.”  
  
“Aye, I thought the same when I first came here. But I did not know how much I would miss my home.”  
  
“But you’ve been gone for so long.”  
  
“That’s true, it felt easier though with Robert though. I suppose I believed he brought the Stormlands with him.”  
  
“But now you’ll have me in court, Ser Barristan, to continue his legacy.”  
  
The knight gave her a look that perhaps she was too bold, but it did not stay on his face for long before fading into a smile. “I am sure you will.”


End file.
